


two sides of the same coin

by teddy_the_bear03



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, MORE FICS FOR THESE TWO, this was fun to write ngl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 15:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15585144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddy_the_bear03/pseuds/teddy_the_bear03
Summary: soulmate au where the name of your soulmate is on one wrist, and the name of your enemy is on the other. you don’t know which one is which, and hopefully it isn’t the same name on both wrists.jacket supposes he’s just really fucking unlucky.





	two sides of the same coin

it appears when he’s nine years old, sitting on the swings in grade school. he is alone, as always, and does not cry out when there is a burning sensation on both his wrists. he just grits his teeth, digs his blunt fingernails into his arm to distract himself, and looks anxiously at his arms. 

it is in neat cursive, the letters connected by elegant loops and it takes jacket a little longer than he’d like to figure out the name on his left wrist. it is not american; instead it seems eurasian, perhaps ukrainian or russian. the name is sergei kozak, and jacket wants to feel the name roll off his tongue, but cannot.

he wonders if sergei has his name on their wrist. would it be jacket, the nickname given to him by the other children for the teal green sweatshirt he wore, or his real name? was sergei a boy, or a girl? he really couldn’t tell; all russian names could be used either way. he also found he didn’t mind. as long as there was someone out there, that really loved him (besides his mom), he was okay.

he takes a glance at the other wrist, also in delicate cursive and the o’s connected to the other letters in meticulous script. the name on his right arm is sokol, which he notes is also russian. this time, though, the name feels harder, aggressive and rough and jacket is unsure if he likes it or not. 

he remembers his mother saying something about the way the name was written; that the way your name showed up, that was going to be your soulmate’s handwriting when you met them. he was glad it wasn’t indistinguishable chicken scratch. he fails to notice that the handwriting on both names is the exact same.

when he goes home that afternoon, his mother picking him up from the dingy elementary school he attended in miami, he shows her his wrists. she gasps in surprise, running her painted (but chipped) fingernails along the tattoos. “momma, does this mean my soulmate was just born?” he signs, and she responds as she shifts the car out of park and into drive. “hmph, no,” she says, clicking on her blinker, “your tattoo shows up whenever it feels like it, between the ages of eight and twelve. you got yours early!” she laughs, turning and switching the blinker back off.

jacket sniffs out a laugh, and doesn’t look at his tattoos for the rest of the ride home.

//

sokol’s soulmate tattoos appear on his wrists when he is eleven years old, and he screams in pain when they do so. it hurts more than anything ever had in his young life; it felt like someone was digging knives into his arms and dragging them downwards. anastasia, his elder sister who had already received her tattoos four years prior, held him in her arms, rocking him gently as he cried.

when his wrists stopped burning, and his sobs subsided into gentle weeps, he pulls away from his sister to look at her face. his eyebrows twist in confusion when he sees that she, too, had been crying. he opens his mouth to ask what was wrong, she automatically responds with, “mine never hurt that bad, and i hate to see you in pain, рыбка.” sokol smiles at her empathy. “thank you,” he responds, and she ruffles his hair. “so, let’s see it!”

sokol looks down at his left wrist, and his stomach drops. the name is not at all russian, and not at all female. his sister notices his darkened expression, and gasps gently. “рыбка, i am so very sorry,” she murmurs, and sokol feels an entirely new wave of tears threaten to spill over. the name is scribbled, in all capitals; richard. 

he looks to his other hand for solitude; perhaps there was a russian woman’s name on the other? but to no avail. in the same scratch, the oddball name jacket was tattooed. anastasia takes both his wrists, and kisses him gently. “it will be okay. i have makeup to cover them,” she says. “what happens when i turn twelve, and they are still not there?” sokol asks, wanting to scratch his skin so hard that he bled. “we will jump that hurdle when it arrives. come, i need to see if it will blend.” anastasia responds, getting up and not sparing sokol a second glance.

the boy follows her, gloomy and sluggish. they arrive at the tiny bathroom they share, mold growing dangerously close to the shower on the stained walls. anastasia pays it no mind, reaching into her cabinet and pulling out a pale shade of foundation. “sit on the toilet, sergei,” she says, grabbing a brush and swirling the powder around. he obeys, a little disturbed at his sister’s sudden aloofness.

“are you angry?” he asks, and her gaze softens. “no. i just fear for your safety around father,” she answers, taking one wrist and brushing the powder on. it tickles, and it takes sokol a moment to stop fidgeting. “so do i,” he murmurs, looking down at the floor. “maybe you can pick up a hobby, to keep you away from home? maybe hockey?” she suggests, finishing one wrist and moving to the other. the tattoo is gone, and sokol wishes for a moment that the powder was permanent.

he isn’t against the idea; he enjoys watching hockey, so why not try to play it? he nods, and anastasia smiles. “good. i will find the sign up sheet for next season, and you can try it. who knows? maybe you will make a good career,” she laughs, and pulls her grasp away from sokol’s hands. “all okay?” she asks, and sokol nods, before thanking her and going to his room, where he cried silent tears on his bed.

//

jacket is in a different gang the first time someone comments on his soulmate tattoos.

it is a rare occasion where he isn’t wearing his trademark varsity jacket; instead, a soft white tee, that hugged his frame and made him feel… oddly confident. he’s sitting at the rickety dining table, reading a book he’d checked out from the library a few days ago. it was called “cactus maintenance: a memoir” and he was actually really enjoying it. that was, until a fellow gang member showed up and glanced over his shoulder. 

“nice tats,” he chuckles, and jacket quickly shoves both hands into his pockets. he can smell  
alcohol on the man’s breath, and he ducks his head to breathe clear air. “fuck off,” jacket clicks, avoiding eye contact. “damn, man, chill out, i was just messing around,” he says, backing away and going to the fridge; probably to grab another drink. 

he didn’t understand how people enjoyed the taste and feeling of alcohol. whenever he drank it, he sank particularly deep into his darker thoughts, and felt helpless and out of control. he didn’t get a light buzz, he didn’t feel goofy and open. it was also really fucking disgusting.

“sergei,” the man says after a while, cracking open another beer and taking a long swig from it, “russian name. so is sokol. you got a thing for russians?” he laughs, and jacket clicks something on his tape. “i don’t know.” he rewinds. “why don’t you-- come over and see?” the man’s eyes widen comically. “fuckin’ fag,” he sneers, striding away from the kitchen. as the man leaves the kitchen, jacket hears him mumble, “and i’m lithuanian.”

jacket snorts at this, and is about to open his book once more when he looks at his tattoos. why was it him? why couldn’t he have some american chick on his wrist, one he could date for a little and then cast aside? why was the person he was meant to be with, and the person he was meant to loathe all the way across the world?

why did he care so much?

he shakes his head, stands up and closes his book and makes his way to his room. his jacket lay haphazardly on the bed, and he slips it on without second thought. the little boost of self esteem he had was now gone, after the degrading comments about his sexuality, and he vowed to never let anyone see his tattoos again. 

no matter who they were.

he lays down on his bed, setting the tape recorder down on his nightstand, and enjoys the feeling of afternoon sunlight against his pale skin. as he cracks open his book to the bookmarked page, he wonders if his soulmate liked reading about cactus maintenance, too.

//

after his “soulmate marking” hadn’t shown up on his wrists for seven years, sokol was kicked out anyways. he supposed it was what he deserved, after lying to the rest of his family for so long, and opts for staying with a fellow hockey team member for the time being. anastasia sends the powder and brush along with him, just in case.

speaking of which; he was enjoying hockey, a lot more than he thought he would. he was close with the rest of his team, and with him, they were nearly unbeatable. they had swam into the professional leagues, giving them the opportunity to earn money from games, and sokol liked that a whole lot. though, he also had a… hobby, one that gave him more than hockey ever would.

he was in cahoots with a few russian mobsters, and occasionally robbed a few banks to earn a little extra cash. he was a soloist, and honestly preferred to work alone, but did not complain on team missions. as long as he was earning money, as long as he was proving his family wrong, then he was happy.

he sat quietly on the couch, watching mindless TV as his teammate’s mother cooked dinner. his friend had gone out to the store, and his sibling was out at a friend’s house; his father at work. he briefly wished his life had been like this, where he’d been allowed to watch TV, instead of slaving away at piano or sweating his ass off at hockey. he had never been good enough for his parents.

“sergei! food’s ready!” his teammate’s mother calls, and sokol jumps up, smiling gently at the older woman. “thank you, ma’am,” he says, and she waves him off. “it’s my pleasure. i have no clue why your parents got rid of such a talented, humble young man,” she says, ruffling his hair, and his face flushes. “you’re very kind.” he responds, and she giggles.

the food is a warm stew, and as he is serving his teammate’s mother and himself, he catches her looking at his soulmate markings. “richard and jacket are very… interesting names,” she comments, and sokol looks away. “i’d say so,” he says shortly, and the woman frowns. “are you ashamed of your tattoos?” she asks, and sokol bites his lip. “yes,” he murmurs, “should i take my leave?”

the woman looks taken aback. “why in the world would you do that?” she asks, and sokol gives her an incredulous look. “i don’t care who your soulmate is! as long as someone loves you, is all that is important to me,” she says, staring into his eyes. he feels relieved and scared and violated, like someone had finally figured him out. he didn’t want that. he didn’t want someone to know who he really was.

but he bites back a retort, and gives her a watery smile. “thank you.” she offers nothing more but a light kiss to his head, and he resists the urge to break down and cry.

//

it is another lazy period for the group, no break-ins or robberies planned for the next few days. the people in said group decide to take advantage of a “relax” day; wolf was holed up in his tinkering room, messing around with something, and dallas and houston played cards on the dining table. clover and bonnie were outside; bonnie had taken up gardening, surprisingly, and clover had decided to join her. jacket opted for lying on the couch, hazily playing video games and propping his feet up on the opposite armrest.

all was quiet until hoxton strolled through, holding a file in his hand and slamming it down on the dining table, making dallas and houston’s cards on said table jump and scatter. “really?” dallas says, and hoxton rolls his eyes. “jacket, please go get clover and bonnie. i’ve got some news.” jacket flips hoxton off but gets up anyway, jogging outside to find clover and bonnie messing around in the newly planted flower bed.

“what’s up, jacket?” clover asks, brushing dirt off her hands and standing up, offering a hand out to bonnie and pulling the other woman up as well. “meeting in the-- common room. follow me.” jacket clicks, and the two women nod before trailing behind jacket into the common room. chains, sydney and wolf had also arrived, meaning the entire team was there.

“so what’s the big news?” houston asks, placing his cards facedown on the table and giving hoxton a fiery look. “don’t get your panties in a twist,” the man replies, “we have a new member.” everyone perks up at this, even jacket, who’d been fiddling with his tape recorder. “who are they?” wolf asks, resting his head on the palm of his hand. 

“it’s his file. he goes by the name sokol. he used to be a soloist, workin’ in russia, robbin’ banks and the like, when dallas and i found him. i offered him a job and a one-way ticket to las vegas. he accepted; ‘parently he’s bitter, though. somethin’ about leaving his hockey team or whatever.” dallas grins, and smacks a fist on the table where he sat. “right, that guy! i’m glad he accepted. we need someone like him.”

however, jacket’s blood runs cold. 

the man’s name was sokol? and he was from russia? what were the odds? and it didn’t help that jacket had wiped out a whole lot of the russian mafia in miami, while he was still there. he was sure, if sokol was involved in the crime business, that he’d heard his name. and now he was coming face to face with the man that could be the death of him. 

clover, the only one who knew about jacket’s tattoos, gives him a worried look. he shoots another one back at her, but the rest of the gang does not notice; instead, too enthralled in looking through sokol’s file and gathering information about the russian.

this was going to be one hell of a week.

//

sokol had received a call from an out-of-country number, and had answered it, thinking it would be a marketer of some sort. instead, he was met with a strong, almost australian accent; though he assumed it was just from the tone, and it was actually from some european country. it seemed almost of yorkshire decent…

clearing his head, he decides to tune into what the man is saying. “you sokol?” he nearly grunts, and sokol isn’t sure if he wants to answer that or not. nonetheless, he’s done more dangerous things than give a stranger his phone number, so he complies. “yes. what do you need?” he asks, sitting down and leaning back in the nearest chair he could find. “my name’s hoxton. i’m in a gang, called payday; we found your file and we’d like you to join.”

sokol perks up with interest. “where are you stationed?” he asks, looking at the linoleum tile and he shifts. “america; las vegas. i’m willing to offer you a one way ticket to las vegas and a damn good job, if i say so myself,” the man; hoxton, chuckles on the other line, and sokol pauses. america was a lot farther away then he was comfortable with, but he’d heard of the gang before, and he felt it’d be idiotic not to join. however, he would be leaving his beloved hockey team behind, and he felt a searing pain in his chest when he realized this.

“i’d be leaving all i love behind,” he says, but he doesn’t exactly know why he mentions it to the man. he hears hoxton sigh on the other end. “but you’d be gaining so much here,” he offers, and sokol’s mouth twitches. “fine. i’ll be there in two days. and the ticket must be first class,” he says, and hangs up the phone. he lets out a wounded groan, and leans back once more. what was he getting into?

//

when he arrives in america, it sinks in how he’d really, really, left russia and his home behind. he is immediately ten times more irritable, hair mussed and grey eyes sharp with aggression and sleep deprivation. he steps out of the car with only a duffel bag in hand, and raps on the door impatiently. his knocking is answered by a young woman with an interesting (was that blue?) haircut. 

“oh, hey, you must be the new guy. sokol, right?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe. “yes. thank you for inviting me into your… group,” he says, almost awkwardly, and shifts underneath her gaze. “yeah. no problem. it’s all in your hands now, kiddo,” she says, and steps out of the doorframe. she waves dismissively. “go find the common room. dallas and hoxton are waiting for you,” she finishes, and walks off. sokol cannot sneak another question in, as she disappears, and he only has the option of finding the two men who recruited him.

he is walking down the small hallway that leads to the common room when another man, in a varsity jacket, blocks his way. he’s significantly shorter than sokol, but nonetheless intimidating with his sharp hazel eyes and stature. he says nothing; he just stares at sokol, gaze turning almost scared, and quickly brushes past him. sokol wants to go after him, grab his wrist, but restrains himself and strides into the dining room.

“aha! our lovely new member has arrived,” dallas grins, as sokol walks through. the man throws his cards down and leans back in his chair. “welcome, pal. how was the flight?” sokol’s mouth fades into a thin line. “sufficient. thank you for recruiting me,” the russian responds, looking down. hoxton, houston and dallas laugh, hoxton slapping sokol on the shoulder. the man flinches away, features twisting into a grimace. “we should be thanking you!” dallas chimes, and sokol is about to leave and find his room when something comes to mind.

“i bumped into a guy on my way here,” he mentions, “he was in a varsity jacket. blonde hair?” he offers, and they all laugh again. “oh, that’s just jacket. he can’t speak, and all that shit. he’s an okay guy,” houston says, drawing another card from the deck and looking at it with distaste. sokol stops. “you said his name was… jacket?” he chokes out, and they all nod. “weird name, we know,” dallas laughs, and sokol shakes his head briskly before leaving the room.

he presses up against the nearest wall blocking him from view, exhaling shakily. he knew they’d cross paths at some point, but here of all places? where he’d be working for a significant amount of time? and yes, he knew that jacket could damn well be his enemy and it’d be no trouble hating him; he did wipe out the russian mafia in miami, but if they were soulmates, then…

he shakes his head. that can’t be the case. he’d find “richard” probably on some heist, and leave a life of crime to spend the rest of his life with him. the idea strikes a warm nerve in sokol’s heart and he walks off to an empty room in the safehouse, looking for an empty bed to fall asleep on. he sets his bag down at the foot of the nearest empty bed, ignoring the tapes that litter the desk and floor, and immediately falls asleep.

//

he wakes up with a start, with a warm hand resting on his leg and brown eyes trained on his sleepy face. “wha--?” he, however, gets no answer, and sits up, prompting jacket to take his hand from sokol’s leg and rest it on his own. “this is my--bedroom.” jacket clicks, and sokol’s eyes widen in realization. “oh, i see. my apologies,” he says, and moves to get up, when jacket gently grasps his wrist.  
“are we--the same?” he says, and pulls his varsity jacket down to reveal sokol’s name, in his own, neat cursive. sokol’s breath hitches, and he pulls up his own sleeve to show jacket’s name in chicken scratch. they look at each other, almost hopelessly, and then sokol gets up, grabs his duffel bag and walks out, leaving jacket sitting on his bed, wrist limp against the once-warm bedsheet.

jacket doesn’t like the feeling in his gut when it smells like sokol.

the russian man finds an uninhabited room, thanks to another woman by the name of clover; who treated him with a little more caution than the others did. when he sees her go into jacket’s room right after she helps him, it clicks in his mind, and he ignores the bitter taste in his mouth as he sets his own bag down.

that evening, at the dinner table, he is bombarded with questions; mainly from hoxton, dallas and houston, but clover and wolf sometimes chime in, while sydney, bonnie and chains just grunt and listen intently. however, sokol notices that jacket picks at his food that night, and refuses to make eye contact with the russian man. he shouldn’t feel hurt, but he does; what had he done to possibly upset the other man?

he knows that they are not soulmates; clover had confirmed that; and he supposed jacket was making good fun of them being, you know, mortal enemies and all that. but instead of cold glares, he was only getting fleeting gazes and red ears. he wants to know what’s going through the mute man’s head; but dinner ends before sokol can even ask.

wolf leaves first, off to tinker with something in his workshop, and dallas, houston and hoxton all stay to play cards, as they always do. after all, they really have nothing to lose; they all share money, so the gambling aspect is just for nonexistent excitement. sokol figures he is going to spend his first night alone, perhaps reading a hilariously out-of-date magazine that the safehouse provides, when clover pops her head into the common room. 

“hey, sokol! i was wondering if you, uh, wanted to play video games with bonnie, sydney, jacket and i. you know, if you want to, and all,” she suggests, and sokol hesitates for a moment. “are you sure you want me there?” he says, and clover looks at him incredulously. “of course we do! i wouldn’t have invited you if we didn’t want you there,” she snorts, and sokol feels his face flush. “right. yes, sorry. i’d love to,” he says, and he gets up, following clover to her room.

bonnie is laying on the bed, the woman saying something and making jacket, who sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling over, laughing soundlessly. when sokol and clover enter the room, the two of them go quiet, before jacket clicks gently, “are we--all ready?” 

it’s mario kart, and the first round is between bonnie and sokol, and sokol is immediately intimidated by her presence. the woman smiles at him, hands him a remote and pats his back gently. “it’s alright! no one has ever beat me. don’t feel embarrassed,” she soothes, and sokol grins. “oh, you’re on,” he says, and the game begins. 

there’s a lot, a lot, of cursing from bonnie’s side. sokol only lets out a exasperated sigh every now again, however, and he can tell bonnie is getting frustrated. he has to admit it; he’s played a bit of mario kart in his days, and he’s halfway decent at it. either that, or bonnie really, really sucks at the game.

they finish the match with sokol just barely winning, and he smiles sheepishly at the larger woman. “you’re one lucky guy,” she grumbles, and he’s afraid he’s going to get his head punched in when she pulls him close, but she just dives her fist into his hair and laughs loudly. “nicely done, rookie!” when she lets go, sokol is dazed, but he just gives her a thumbs up and rubs his eyes.

“you and me,” clover says, taking the remote from bonnie and sliding between her and sokol. “let’s do it,” he drawls, and she giggles before starting the match. clover is much more agile than bonnie was; dropping last minute bananas and distracting him with her fast smack-talk.

“take that, bitch! yeah, you like that?” she spews, clicking furiously, and sokol struggles to catch up to where she is. “shut up!” the russian man says, and she laughs again, but maintains her speed. the match is close, sokol thwarted by one last banana, and they shake hands. “a pleasure playing with you,” she laughs, and sokol grins good-naturedly.

“jacket? you up for a round?” sokol asks, and the caucasian man looks up at him, before hesitantly taking the offered remote. “yes. thank you.” he clicks, and gives sokol a tiny smile. he then trains his eyes on the screen, where clover hits the begin button. he watches both people click furiously on their remotes, jacket’s cheekbones illuminated by the tv light and sokol has to tear his gaze away to bonnie, who’s watching clover, almost adoringly. interesting.

jacket, surprisingly, beats clover with ease, and she just hands the remote to bonnie while she flips him off. “it’s not--the first time,” he reasons, and she shoves him and laughs. “you’re a jerk,” she comments, and bonnie snorts as they start. bonnie doesn’t seem at all dejected when jacket quickly gains speed ahead of her, and finishes nearly ten seconds before her. “clover’s right! you’re a bitch.” bonnie jeers, and jacket laughs silently.

the mute man then hands his own remote to clover, leaving the two women to play. they smirk at each other before aggressively shouting over top of the other’s voices while they race, futilely leaning this way and that, trying to control their cars with more force than they actually have. clover ends up beating bonnie, and she taps her cheek lightly before bonnie drops a light kiss onto the pressured spot. 

oh. that was a surprise.

to finish the night, jacket and sokol go against one another. “i’m not going to--go easy on--you,” jacket says, smiling at sokol, and the russian man cannot help but smile back. “i sure hope not! i want to see what you are made of,” he retorts, and hits play.

it’s probably the quietest and most intense sixty seconds of his life.

jacket, being unable to speak, just lets out puffs of frustration, and sokol grits his teeth whenever the other man tries to drop a banana. it’s the closest competition he’s had during the night, and jacket was refusing to let up; swerving and blocking sokol from accelerating. sokol finally pulls a bit ahead, and drops not one, not two, but three bananas he’d been saving for the caucasian man. jacket expertly dodges the first and second but does not expect the third and spins out of the area, putting him in last place.

jacket throws the controller down in mock anger, and sokol laughs as he finishes the race. “i’m so sorry,” he says, between laughs. he covers his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his snorts, but to no avail. jacket rolls his eyes, and picks up his tape recorder. “nice job,” he clicks, and sokol feels his face grow warm. “thanks,” he responds, and clover then decides to yawn. 

“alright! that was a lot of fun. thank you for joining us, sokol. now, get the fuck out!” she says, quickly ushering the two men off of her bed and into the hall. they hear bonnie laugh from the inside as clover shuts her door, and see the tv light turn off from underneath the doorway. sokol stretches out his arms, raising them high above his head so that his shirt raises just enough to expose a sliver of his stomach. he catches jacket’s gaze drift downward before snapping back up again when sokol releases.

“goodnight,” jacket clicks, when they reach their separate rooms. “to you as well, jacket,” sokol replies, and he sees the other man’s eyebrows twitch before he shuts the door behind him. sokol lingers, hoping for something but unsure of what, before he finally enters his own room and retires for the night.

//

sokol had always been an early riser, and this did not change, no matter the time zone. when he checked the clock, it read 8:35am, and even though his body still suffered from jetlag, his mind would refuse to be put to bed once more. so he gets up, stretches and basks in the morning sunlight before opening his door and making his way to the common room.

he smells bacon and pancakes wafting through the hallway as he walks, and his stomach growls with impatience. picking up the pace, he enters the common room, and quickly makes a loud noise as to not embarrass the two people in… close quarters that were making breakfast.

they leaped away from each other, one clearing his throat and taking a long sip from his coffee while the other experimentally picked at a pancake. hoxton, after he’s finished drinking, raises an eyebrow at sokol. “how’d you sleep?” he asks, and sokol gives him a smile, which he doesn’t return. “quite nicely. thank you for making breakfast,” he says, and hoxton then smiles. “i didn’t do it, he did,” he responds, pointing to wolf, who placed the last of the bacon onto a paper towel. “o-oh! i don’t mind,” the man in question sputters, turning the stove off. “would you like anything?” wolf asks, and sokol nods vigorously.

the three of them eat in general silence, hoxton and sokol occasionally giving wolf a compliment on his food. chains strolls in at some point, taking a pancake back to his room, and then clover and bonnie arrive, joining the three at the dining table. “thanks for this, wolf,” bonnie says, and the man smiles sheepishly. “you’re welcome,” he responds, and clover taps his head with her fork. “always doin’ the essentials, this guy. i can’t tell you how many times he’s fixed jacket’s tape recorder,” she comments, and sokol chuckles.

“i really don’t know how i’m not buying him a new one after every mission,” wolf laughs, and the rest of them chime in. it’s definitely a peaceful first morning, and sokol vaguely hopes it’s like this for the rest of his time here. speaking of which; “when is our--i mean, my first heist with you guys?” he asks, and hoxton leans back in his chair.

“good o’ you to ask. we got a loud mission comin’ up this evening, if you’d like to join in,” he says, and sokol nods in thought. “sounds good. do you mind?” he asks, and hoxton shakes his head. “not at all! it’s going to be dallas, wolf, jacket, you and i.” sokol gives the englishman a thumbs up before offering to take the dishes up to the sink. wolf looks up at him in surprise. “you’d do that? thank you,” he says, and the team sitting at the table all hand sokol their plates. as he’s running water over the glass, he hears another person walk into the room.

“mornin’, jacket,” clover drawls, and the mute man smirks. “good morning.” he clicks and walks up next to sokol, smiling gently at the russian man before grabbing a piece of bacon and sticking half of it in his mouth. sokol catches himself staring at jacket, looking next to godly in the morning light with a piece of fucking bacon hanging from his lips. he averts his gaze to the dish in hand before jacket notices and exhales heavily.

“are we still on for--this afternoon?” jacket rewinds, and hoxton gives him an “ok” symbol with his fingers while he polishes off the last of his coffee. “sokol will be joining us, if that’s alright,” hoxton adds, walking out of the room and taking the mug with him. “hoxton, i can take the mug,” sokol calls, but the man in question just gives him a backward wave. “nah, i wouldn’t put a mug in the sink while you’re doing the dishes. that’s just rude,” he responds, and when he’s out of earshot, clover snorts.

“that’s probably the most okay thing he’s done, ever,” she says offhandedly, and bonnie nods. “as much as i love him, he’s a fuckin’ asshole sometimes,” she says, getting up and looking at the clock. “got some time to kill. want to water the garden?” bonnie asks clover, and the other woman nods enthusiastically. “they don’t call me clover for nothin’!” she exclaims, and bonnie rolls her eyes affectionately before lacing her fingers with clover’s own.

“that’s an interesting study,” wolf murmurs, and sokol gives him a questioning look. “i saw a study on hand holding. you know, linked palms is usually platonic, laced fingers are usually romantic…” wolf trails off, looking at the ground. “that’s--fascinating.” jacket clicks, and wolf’s face brightens. “right? i tried to find more stuff on it, but no luck,” he pops his mouth. “oh well. thanks for doing the dishes, sokol! see you two later this evening.” and with that, wolf strolls off, leaving only jacket and sokol in the room.

jacket ignores the feeling of wanting to both pin sokol against the counter and kiss him and punch the russian’s fucking lights out.

“excited for--mission?” jacket clicks, and sokol laughs. “i guess so. hopefully it goes well; i’m not all too good at loud missions,” he admits, and jacket shrugs. “no worries. we will--help you out.” he replies, and sokol nods gently. “i’m normally a soloist, if you didn’t know,” the russian provides, and jacket shakes his head. “i know. saw your file--you used to play--sport.” sokol feels a pang in his chest at the reminder.

“right. i used to play hockey,” he reminisces, and jacket instantly feels bad. he’s pretty sure he struck a nerve with the man he was trying to warm up to. “sorry,” he begins to click, but the russian brushes him off. “not to worry. i’ve only been gone one day, and i have to admit, they were better when i was there,” he says, and jacket gives him a sad smile. one that he returns without hesitation.

“wolf can--try to hook up a tv. to--RUSSIAN--stations,” jacket says, and sokol snorts at the outburst of russian in between his calm, steady words. “that’d be really nice,” sokol says, and jacket shrugs. “just a suggestion. you can ask--dog.” this time, sokol doubles over with laughter, and jacket’s face flushes red. “that's fucking hilarious,” he manages out, and jacket goes even darker. 

after sokol calms down, and jacket begins to turn a normal shade of pink, they settle into an awkward silence. “those video games last night were fun,” sokol says, and jacket nods. “we should do it--again, sometime,” the mute man responds, and sokol grins. “i’d really like that.”

jacket doesn't mention that maybe he'd like to do it, with just the two of them. 

before they can continue any further in their conversation, wolf pokes his head in, asking for jacket to come help him with some project in his workshop. jacket obliges, giving sokol a gentle goodbye and jogging to catch up to the other man. sokol is left alone in the kitchen, placing the last of the dishes onto the rack and leaning against the counter.

he notices a bookshelf shoved into a corner of the common room. he strides over, scanning over the various titles until one catches his eye. it’s called “cactus maintenance: a memoir”, and he finds himself oddly intrigued. he takes it off the shelf, and flops down onto the couch, cracking it open and staring in disbelief at the overdue fine. whoever had checked the book owed nearly 150 dollars in fines for that book alone. he gives the receipt another once over before putting it to the side and saving it for a bookmark. he settles deeper into the couch, and begins to read, drifting away from the real world and into the words and pages.

//

3 o’clock comes sooner than sokol had expected, him not moving once from his spot until he’d finished the book. it had been surprisingly emotional, and as he’d finished it, he found himself vaguely tearing up. wiping his eyes, he sits up, and notices that hoxton, wolf, and dallas had filtered into the common room and had blueprints laid out onto the dining table.

“ah, sokol, we were wondering when you’d notice us,” dallas teases, and sokol’s face warms as he puts the book back onto the shelf and makes his way over to where the other three men are hunched over. “do you know where jacket is?” wolf questions, and they all shrug. “i’ll go find him,” sokol offers, and hoxton waves him off.

the russian man quickly walks out, peering down the hall and calling out jacket’s name. when he realizes that he won’t be able to hear the mute man’s response, he jogs down to check his room, but to no avail. he frowns, and runs back down the hallway to the entrance of the safehouse. he opens the door, standing on the porch, and sees jacket smoking a cigarette on the side of the base.

“hey,” sokol says, jumping down the steps and joining the other man. jacket exhales the smoke from his last drag slowly, closing his eyes before clicking something on his tape recorder, “hi. what do you need?” sokol juts a thumb back to the safehouse. “we’re running over the plans for our mission this evening. they want you to join us,” he says, and jacket nods. he drops his cigarette, stubbing it out with his heel and following sokol back inside.

they walk in relative silence, the only sound their shoes clicking on the linoleum, and the quiet does not have a chance to turn awkward as the common room is only a small hallway distance from the entry of the safehouse. the three men studying the blueprints do not acknowledge their presence and they slip in without disrupting dallas’s monologue.

“...and then, we’ll break in through the back. two of us will handle the safe money, one will rob the atm’s and the other two will keep the guards and hostages at bay. since it’s sokol’s first mission with us, i want you and jacket to keep our… inmates in check. hoxton and i will grab the safe money, and wolf will get the atm’s. is that clear?” the males all nod in agreement, and sokol feels something twist in his chest. of all the people going on this mission, why does he have to be paired with jacket? but he does not complain, only shifts where he stands and bends his elbow experimentally.

“we will leave in the van at 5pm sharp. none of you boys better be late,” dallas says, and begins to roll the blueprints up and tie them with hairbands. he figures hoxton had donated some to hold the papers together, as his hair fell around his face and into his eyes, and he obviously had to have hair ties to keep it all back. they all nod once more and dallas leaves, blueprints under his arm.

“so what do we do?” sokol asks, and wolf shrugs. “whatever we want. i’m up for watching a quick movie, if anyone wants to join me,” he responds, and they all look at each other before settling onto the couch. sokol hides a grin as hoxton shifts a little closer than considered platonic toward wolf, pretending to stretch his arms and slide one over the other man’s shoulder. sokol shoots jacket a look, and the mute man responds with an eye roll and a knowing grin.

they settle on a children’s movie after ten minutes of searching; a cute little film called “oliver and company”, probably made in the two thousands. by the end of it, sokol’s chest feels snug, and he looks over to see tears threatening to spill over hoxton’s eyes, wolf clutching his chest and jacket smiling warmly at the screen. but the feeling is quickly ripped away when hoxton opens the guide and exclaims, “oh my god! it’s two minutes until five!”

the men scramble to put their shoes on and grab their equipment and masks from their rooms, then rushing out the door to meet dallas, who is calmly packing up the van. when they all arrive, panting outside around the van, dallas checks his watch methodically. “well, look at that. all four of you are on time,” he comments, and they sigh with relief. he clicks open the van door and they pile in, guns rattling as they settle into the backseat.

“we know what we’re doing, boys?” dallas calls, and they all shout variations of yes as the leader pulls out of the driveway. sokol takes a moment to study jacket’s mask; it’s an… interesting choice, a large chicken head covering his face and neck, and darkening his eyes so that sokol can no longer see the warm hazel. he still wears his varsity jacket and unfairly tight jeans; and sokol quickly looks away before his thoughts can drift.

as they ride along, bumps on the road causing them to jolt upwards, sokol can feel the atmosphere grow not tense, but excited. he’d never felt particularly thrilled to go on a heist, but he supposes there is almost always time for change. when dallas begins to slow, and pulls into the back alley behind the bank, sokol feels jittery, and the body language of the others show no different, except for maybe the nerves being a little more subdued.

“no guards around the outside?” hoxton asks from behind his mask, and dallas shakes his head. sokol can hear hoxton grin, and he grabs the hammer from the van and hands it to wolf, who is looking hopefully at the expanse of brick wall that encases the lovely bank they were going to borrow from. “a little to your left and you’re good,” dallas says, and wolf moves as told before bringing down the hammer, causing bricks to fall from their place. 

“come on,” jacket clicks, moving to go around the perimeter of the building until they reached the entrance. they needed to move fast, as to divert attention from wolf, and they make quick work of entering through the front doors and pulling their guns out. “freeze, everyone! this is a robbery.” jacket booms, and sokol wants to look at him in surprise. he didn’t know his tape recorder had such a loud setting.

everyone in the bank does freeze, and one woman who is getting money from the atm begins to cry. “do not panic. we are not trying to hurt you; think of your loved ones. they want to see you return home safely. we are not taking any of your money; your bank funds will not be lost.” jacket says, and people begin to drop to the floor. the clerks behind the counters tremble, and jacket slowly lowers his gun. at this point, wolf rushes in, bags in hand. “unlock the atms!” he barks to the bankers, and they stumble to do so. sokol can hear hoxton and wolf breaking into the safe from the outside; and every second that passes, is a second he is glad he isn’t hearing police sirens.

a few tense, silent minutes pass as wolf gathers money from the atms and hoxton and dallas rob the safe. finally, over the intercom, they hear hoxton crackle ‘all clear!’ and they begin to move when, suddenly, a clerk grabs a pistol from behind her counter and fires two shots into sokol’s abdomen. he drops to the floor, crying out in pain, and jacket drops his gun to quickly check sokol’s wounds. he vaguely hears wolf fire three rounds at the clerk, making her fall onto the linoleum, but he is in too much pain to tell wolf “nice job”.

god, it fucking hurts. it feels like white fire ripping through his stomach and abdomen, and he gasps in pain as wolf tells the walkie talkie that sokol is down and that they need to leave immediately. he hangs limp as jacket lifts him from the ground, crying out once more, and he can feel jacket flinch as he does so. everything is suddenly turning blurry; he can see the red staining his outfit, he can feel himself being lifted into the car, and can see jacket quickly taking off his mask and the look of utter terror on his face as he cuts sokol’s shirt and examines the wounds. when he sees jacket take out a pair of tweezers, to extract the bullets, he finally passes out, the world fading to a complete and serene black.

//

jacket is trying hopelessly not to cry as he pulls the two bullets from sokol’s abdomen. he’s fucking glad the banker had terrible aim; the second bullet was dangerously close to piercing sokol’s liver, and he knows how much pain the russian is going to go through in the recovery process.

the car ride feels eternal; he knows he is making quick work, but it seems like dallas is going two miles an hour as he dresses sokol’s wounds temporarily. the bandages were clean, but now wrapped around sokol’s stomach, they were stained a bright and worrying red. jacket refuses to let his mind wander and instead trails his calloused fingertips up and down sokol’s arm, tracing circles into the pale skin.  
that’s when he sees it.

his unmistakable chicken scratch handwriting; the one that clover teased him about whenever he offered to write the team grocery lists. the handwriting that left his mother his very last note to her on the fridge, telling her how much he loved her. how much he owed to her; how much he would miss her. the handwriting that wrote annotations and notes in every book he owned (and the ones he’d stolen).

it lay on sokol’s arm, fragile and sketched in messy graphite. but the name was not jacket, like he’d expected. instead, it was his bitter, given name; richard vescoats. he doesn’t panic, and instead takes gentle hold of sokol’s other wrist to peer at the other name. and there it was; the name he’d invented for himself, jacket.

what was he to do with this information? now he knew that sokol’s real name was sergei kozak, and that they were destined to not only be lifelong enemies, but soulmates. he chided himself for being curious, and snooping; he would’ve been fine living a life with only a mortal enemy that he didn’t know (and didn’t want to know) was his soulmate. but now, he was in a situation where the ball was in his own hands; he had a choice to whether or not tell sokol about… all of this.

he wonders what it would be like, to be with sokol. to wake up next to him every morning and be able to look all he wants into those dizzying grey eyes. he couldn’t deny his initial attraction to the man when he’d met him; sokol being his soulmate only amplified it, and he opts for ignoring the gentle arousal fogging his mind to focus back onto the task at hand. he didn’t know what he was getting himself into, confessing… whatever he was feeling to sokol. he supposes that what he might have to do is ask.

when they arrive back at the base, they carry sokol into his room to let him rest. jacket lingers, definitely not staring at the other man’s bare chest and instead praying to whatever god that sokol would be okay. that sokol would come out on top and smile at him with those award winning teeth.

when he enters the common room once more, he is relieved to find only wolf in the kitchen, heating up what looked like to be mac and cheese. he waves at the man, and wolf gives him a lopsided smile. jacket then walks up beside him, fiddling with the hem of his varsity coat. “a little shaken up?” wolf asks, almost in a fatherly tone, and jacket nods. “I wanted to ask you about something.” the mute man clicks on his tape recorder, and wolf leans against the counter. “hit me!”

“what did you do when you found out that you and hoxton were soulmates?” he asks, and wolf’s face goes bright red. “are--are you serious?” he stammers, rubbing his arm, and all he receives back is a blank but expecting stare from jacket. “ah, of course you are,” wolf says, mostly to himself, and shifts. “let’s see. we found out when he was watching me tinker with my sleeves rolled up in my room,” he begins, and jacket nods for him to continue.  
“he was talking about cars to me, when all of the sudden, the sentence kind of… dies in his throat. i ask him what’s wrong, and he points to my arm, and then to his.” wolf chuckles, and jacket feels himself smile. “that’s how i found out his real name, too. and, well, the rest is history!” the man finishes, and jacket feels a little lighter.

“now, time for you to answer me. why’re you asking me this?” wolf questions, and it’s jacket’s turn to flush red. “i was dressing--russia’s--wounds and i caught a glimpse of his tattoo. it was me… on both sides.” wolf’s eyes widen in disbelief, and then he laughs once more. “honestly? why am i not surprised?” jacket laughs with no sound, and punches wolf’s arm lightly. “you’re a--jerk.”

“what do i do?” jacket says, once the laughing fit has calmed down and they are quiet once more. “i think you should tell him what happened, and how you feel. honesty is the best policy, and let me tell you, there is nothing better on fucking earth than having a soulmate,” wolf responds, taking his mac and cheese out and pouring the nuclear cheese (as bonnie liked to call it) into the softened noodles. jacket nods, and exhales loudly.

“i know you can do it, kiddo. i’m here for you,” wolf says kindly, giving jacket a gentle pat on the shoulder before walking off with his mac and cheese in hand. he’s almost halfway out the door when he realizes he forgot his spoon, and bounds back, shaking his head and chuckling to himself. when wolf leaves, jacket sits down on the couch, sinking into the stained-but-dearly-loved cushions with a squeak. the wait for sokol to wake up would be unbearable for him, but he supposed he could wait a few days for a change that would affect his entire life.

//

it takes sokol only a day and a half to wake up, drowsy and hungry and definitely in pain. jacket is constantly there to tend to the russian, providing new bandages and a fresh glass of water every few hours. sokol, after another day of drifting in the limbo between awake and asleep, finally begins to regain composure, sitting up (not on his own, however) and needing less care as the hours passed.

jacket was a bit shocked at the other man’s speedy recovery; he’d be in a solid amount of pain for at least four days, and yet, sokol was stretching out on his own on day two. 

in the evening, soft sunset light streaming in through sokol’s dusty blinds, jacket realizes that now is probably a better time than ever to bring up their… predicament. sokol looks gorgeous, bathed in the pink and orange undertones of the outside, and jacket feels his heart throb every time he looks at the man. sokol is so pretty when he laughs, so animated when he talks, and jacket feels like he could listen to the russian go on for hours about whatever he wanted, and jacket would always listen.

this, however, was not apparent to sokol, who noticed jacket beginning to zone out as he talked about weird russian toys he’d seen while robbing strip malls in the cold country. “...hello? earth to jacket?” sokol says teasingly, waving a hand in front of the mute man’s face. jacket blinks and reels back, before grinning sheepishly and scratching the back of his neck.

“i’m sorry. there’s just… something i need to talk to you about,” jacket says, fiddling with his tape recorder once the thought ends. sokol shoots him a questioning look, leaning back against the pillows in a “talk to me” stance. jacket refuses to make eye contact with the russian man, for fear of his expression as he pulls down his varsity jacket’s sleeves to reveal his soulmate tattoos.

sokol isn’t sure what to think. he isn’t surprised to see his gangster name on one wrist of jacket’s skinny and scarred arms, but to see his real name, the name his family used for him on jacket’s other; that sent a shiver down his spine and a warm feeling in his chest.

“i saw your tattoos in the car while i dressed your wounds.” jacket says, pulling his sleeves back up and searching sokol’s face. the russian had a mixture of confusion and delight on his face, and jacket thanks his lucky stars that sokol is somewhat easy to read. “i know i shouldn’t have looked, but i couldn’t help myself.” the mute man finishes, and sokol reaches over to place his hand on top of jacket’s.

“it’s okay. there’s nothing to apologize for,” sokol says, squeezing gently, and jacket feels his face flush. sokol then turns his wrist around, showing his own wrist to jacket once more. “to know that this is your name… is surprisingly comforting.” the russian says, and jacket looks down, trying to stop the tears forming in his eyes. “i’m glad.” he clicks, and he’s glad his tape recorder doesn’t sound choked up.

“look at me, моя любовь,” sokol says, moving his hand to place his fingertips underneath jacket’s chin, “what’s wrong--oh!” the russian can barely finish before jacket leans forward, burying his face into the crook of sokol’s neck and wrapping his arms around his waist. jacket has to pull away briefly to answer, and he immediately misses sokol’s warm touch, “it feels so good to have someone--love me.” the love me on the tape recorder is desperate, probably from some soap opera, and they both break into grins.

jacket leans close once more, sokol wrapping a pale arm around the mute man’s neck, and their foreheads pressed together. “kiss me,” sokol murmurs, and he’s so close that jacket can feel the syllables roll off his tongue and the warm breath they produce. jacket says nothing; doesn’t want to and just tilts forward to pressed him and sokol’s lips together for the first time.

there are no fireworks; the air conditioning is too soft for that, and instead it feels like a warm summer night with fireflies dancing around his head; hot days in miami where he sat on the beach, feet implanted in shallow water; 70 degree weather during christmas time, and when they had a palm tree instead of a pine one. it feels like coming home.

it’s slow, and chaste and jacket’s lips are chapped beyond belief but neither can bring themselves to care as their mouths move languidly together. they break for air but do not pull away, instead just parting so that their foreheads still stay together, so that they breathed the same air and felt the same closeness as they did while they kissed.

they meet once more, and jacket feels another wave of peacefulness hit him. he can’t help but think that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this warm, honey-like happiness, but he pushes those thoughts away to focus on the feeling of sokol’s lips against his.

this was his.


End file.
